


i’m a puppet on a string

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 18x18, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4317123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s… nice,” Ashton says. <i>Nice</i> sounds like a replacement for something less pleasant. “I hope he told you good things about me.”</p>
<p>Luke thinks back to all the times Calum has mentioned Ashton. Most of it is complaining along the lines of <i>it’s not fair of him to tell me how messy I am when he’s the one who crumples up the sketches he doesn’t like and throws them across the room</i> and <i>I don’t get why he won’t come to our parties it’s like he has a personal grudge against all frats.</i></p>
<p>He can tell it’s affectionate complaining, though, which is why he says, “Yeah, he did.” He’s also weak for attractive boys, which is why he adds, “But he didn’t tell me you were this cute.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’m a puppet on a string

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burningthefutures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningthefutures/gifts).



> > frat boy luke tries to pick art major ashton up and ashton isn't having it cause he thinks frat boys are dumb but luke is captivated by ashton and yeahhhhhhh - college au i guess lol - and of course happy ending!!!!!
> 
>   
> the prompt was based off of [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/a8f490a5d0264137c76fc4cf57e5dde2/tumblr_niftewD8sn1tqs7yjo3_500.jpg) pic but i decided to age ashton down bc i wanted them all to be in the same year and also bc i'm secretly weak for 18x18 so imagine [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/96b24c640f4bc795723f0ebae2316d69/tumblr_nlf7vs7CRC1si8bj1o1_400.jpg) [luke](http://41.media.tumblr.com/5202d378218e9195a228fc234c5a065e/tumblr_nh1xw8U2ME1tkez89o1_400.jpg) and [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/50a8dc5bde43147960c40ac8060d5b99/tumblr_mmld8aClOq1rhv8bmo1_400.jpg) [ashton](https://36.media.tumblr.com/7639634b0a4fa83431e33408e0594248/tumblr_n0w72hFdwr1rj9za5o1_540.jpg)

“Please?”

Silence; Michael’s gaze remains fixated on the television. He’s in the middle of what looks to be a tough battle with an oversized lizard.

“It’ll be fun,” Luke says.

Michael snorts, which is just plain _rude_.

“Calum’s going.”

Michael actually rolls his eyes at that. “Well, obviously. He’s in the frat.”

“Calum’s roommate is going.”

“You mean Ashton?”

“Mhm,” he hums in a _if Ashton Irwin’s going to this party then so can you_ sort of manner. Luke’s pretty sure that Calum’s roommate is actually a seventy-year-old man. _Doesn’t like loud noises, goes to bed early, won’t come to any parties,_ Calum had said. _Just like my grandpa._

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Michael says, and Luke stares at him in confusion until he realizes that the monster on the screen is now dead and that Michael’s talking to himself. Typical. “Do you know how long it took me to beat that boss?”

Luke does not know, and he does not care. “Mikey,” he whines, drawing out the second syllable. “Don’t you want to meet him? The guy’s almost as antisocial as you.” It’s been a few months since college started and neither of them has met Ashton yet; either he’s as obsessed with his classes as Calum says he is, or he’s really good at excusing himself out of social events.

“Yeah, _almost_ ,” Michael retorts. “I’m happy to keep my title.”

Luke tries a different tactic. “But it’s _New Year’s Eve_. You can’t spend New Year’s Eve in our dorm playing _Final Fantasy_.”

Michael shoots him a defiant glare. “Watch me.”

The blond throws his hands up in defeat and flops backward onto his bed, rolling over so he can bury his face into his pillow. “It wouldn’t kill you to go out for once,” he says, voice muffled.

“I _do_ go out,” Michael says. “But I’m not paying to get into some frat party.”

“It’s not just _some_ frat, it’s _my_ frat,” Luke says. He sits back up. “And we need to raise money somehow.”

“Sorry, man,” Michael says. He doesn’t sound sorry. “Try me again when I’m not broke.”

“Fine,” Luke says, “but you’re missing out.”

He checks his phone. It’s a little past eleven, which means he should have left, like, ten minutes ago. He stands with a resigned sigh and ducks into the bathroom to make sure his quiff is as strong as ever, then grabs his room key, pockets his phone, and pauses by the door to look back at Michael. The other boy is happily hacking away at yet another monster, fingers flying over the Xbox controller.

“Some friend you are,” he says, a last-minute attempt to guilt-trip him into coming. “At least Calum won’t abandon me.”

“ _You’re_ the one abandoning _me_ ,” Michael points out without missing a beat.

Luke pretends not to hear.

❖

Calum is nowhere to be seen, and Luke can’t decide which of his two best friends he hates more right now.

It’s not too bad, he supposes, three beers in. Joining a frat kind of forced him to get over the social awkwardness from high school, and the alcohol definitely helps. But he’s been making small talk for half an hour now and it’s getting annoying because Calum’s still (presumably) fucking around somewhere and Luke needs a familiar face. The brothers are nice enough, but they’re all at least a year above him and he’s only known them for a few months.

There’s also the brunette who won’t leave him alone. She’d walked up to him maybe ten minutes ago and introduced herself as Anna, and he’s been stuck listening to her rambling about her remarkably dull life. So far, he’s learned that she has an older sister, that she has two cats at home, and that she did ballet for fifteen years before quitting when she entered college; it’s a marvel that Luke isn’t asleep on his feet.

He’s spacing out again, eyes wandering over the people around them in their ever-present search for Calum, when Anna’s voice brings his attention back to her and she says his name in a tone that sounds a lot like she’s been repeating it.

“Sorry,” he says. “The music’s loud. Did you say something?”

She nods her head toward the dancefloor. “Do you wanna dance?”  

Luke doesn’t know how to explain that he can pull off a mean robot but that’s about it, and that he isn’t really up to making a fool out of himself in the company of someone who isn’t Calum or Michael. There’s also the fact that he’s not into her. Or, as a rule of thumb, into girls in general.

“Let me refill first,” he says, thinking quickly. When Anna makes to follow him, he shakes his head hastily. “You don’t need to come with me, I’ll be fast.”

The part about refilling isn’t a lie, but the rest of it is. Luke slips into the sea of moving people before Anna can protest, easily ducking out of her line of vision.

He takes his time pouring himself another drink, all the while scanning the room for something he can use as an excuse to “forget” about Anna. Catching a glimpse of dark, curly hair that he _thinks_ may just belong to Calum, Luke grabs his cup and makes a beeline for that area before he can lose sight of his friend.

He doesn’t register the other person until they collide head-on. The plastic cup slips from his hand, and he jumps back before its contents can spill all over him.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” the boy says.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Luke says, bending down to pick the cup up before straightening and taking a proper look at the damage— upon which he promptly decides that he needs to leave this country, go home, and never leave Australia again. Of all the people he could spill his beer on, of course this one has to be _cute_ , all silky brown curls and pretty hazel eyes. Of fucking _course_.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the boy says, looking morosely down at his ruined sweatshirt, but Luke isn’t thinking straight, doesn’t notice anything but the Australian accent that he hadn’t picked up on from the two words spoken earlier. If they’re both Australian, forget leaving the country; he’s ready to leave this planet.

“Oh, well, I’m. I’m Luke,” he says weakly, because apparently this is his cue to introduce himself.

“Ashton,” the brunet replies. “Um. Nice meeting you?” He moves to the side, likely eager to get away from the clumsy kid who got beer all over his clothes, and it takes Luke’s mind a moment to catch up with the first part of his response.

“Wait!” he says, and mentally cringes at how desperate he sounds when Ashton turns back to him with a raised eyebrow. “Did you say your name was Ashton?”

Ashton laughs uncertainly. “I’m pretty sure I did, yeah.”

“Do you, uh, do you know a Calum?” Luke asks, dreading the answer.

Ashton regards him bemusedly. “He’s my roommate, actually. Why?”

That’s it. Luke’s going to fly into the sun. “Oh, well, I’m his friend,” he says. “He’s, uh. He’s told me a lot about you.” _Wow, way to sound like a fucking creep._ He takes back everything he ever thought about how joining the frat helped him outgrow his high school days.

“That’s… nice,” Ashton says. _Nice_ sounds like a replacement for something less pleasant. “I hope he told you good things.”

Luke thinks back to all the times Calum has mentioned Ashton. Most of it is complaining along the lines of _it’s not fair of him to tell me how messy I am when he’s the one who crumples up the sketches he doesn’t like and throws them across the room_ and _I don’t get why he won’t come to our parties it’s like he has a personal grudge against all frats_.

He can tell it’s affectionate complaining, though, which is why he says, “Yeah, he did.” He’s also weak for attractive boys, which is why he adds, “But he didn’t tell me you were this cute.”

Ashton blinks at him, clearly taken aback.

Luke doesn’t realize exactly what he just said until it catches up with him a moment later. He feels his cheeks heat up, and it’s just awful because his face is about as subtle as a fire engine when he blushes and there’s no chance in hell that Ashton won’t notice. He really fucking hates his genes sometimes.

And, like, it’s not even that it was a bad line; it’s that Ashton’s still staring at him like he’s trying to figure out a polite way to say that he’s not interested, and Luke’s not drunk enough and he’s never really had the _swagger_ to pull it off without backpedaling immediately and screwing it up.

Which is exactly what he does as he blurts out, “I didn’t mean that.” Fuck. Not how he’d intended that to come out. “I mean I did, just— I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have assumed— you’re probably not into guys anyway.” He shuts up before he can say anything else, biting his lip ring like it’ll help him keep his mouth closed.

“Um. Not usually,” Ashton says. “But there are exceptions.” His eyes have dropped to Luke’s lips, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Luke self-consciously stops chewing the piercing.

Before he can figure out if he’s one of those exceptions or if Ashton’s just trying to be nice, the background noise around them suddenly swells to a deafening chant that drowns out their conversation.

_“Ten!”_

_“Nine!”_

_“Eight!”_

It’s the countdown to New Year’s Day. Everyone’s watching a flat screen mounted on the wall, where the camera is focused on the Times Square Ball.

_“Seven!”_

_“Six!”_

_“Five!”_

Luke finds himself wondering what Michael’s doing, if he’s still playing _Final Fantasy_ or if he’s moved on to another game. If he’s still in their dorm at all; maybe he’s at another party, one that didn’t have an entrance fee for non-female non-members.

_“Four!”_

_“Three!”_

He can’t believe that it’s almost midnight and he _still_ hasn’t found Calum.

_“Two!”_

He hopes Anna’s with a guy who’s actually interested in her. He also hopes he won’t ever see her again. Christ, that would be awkward.

_“One!”_

The ball drops. Around him, strangers find other strangers to kiss.

Struck with a sudden surge of courage and a certainty that he wasn’t misreading the way Ashton looked at his lips, Luke turns to him, but the other boy is gone.

❖

He finds Calum around ten minutes after midnight.

“Where’ve you been, bro?” Calum slurs, throwing an arm around Luke and practically draping himself across Luke’s shoulders. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

Luke almost tells him about meeting Ashton but doesn’t; he still has enough dignity not to pour his mind out to someone who’s obviously shitfaced. Besides, he’s sure Calum will learn all about it tomorrow, when Ashton describes how he ran into one of his embarrassing friends and how said embarrassing friend half-accidentally and completely unsuccessfully hit on him.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he says, steering them away from a group of girls before Calum can swerve into them. “And I looked for you, too.” He adds, with a touch of resentment, “ _You’re_ the one who disappeared,” and is reminded of how Michael had said almost those exact same words just before Luke left the dorm an hour ago. He’s starting to wish he’d stayed.

Calum accepts the blame with little resistance, burying his face into Luke’s neck and murmuring, “Oh. ’m sorry.”

He’s a clingy drunk, in the most literal sense. Luke tries and fails to escape his hold, but Calum’s arm is wrapped around his neck like a vise, so Luke settles for patting him on the back rather awkwardly. “C’mon, I need another drink.”

❖

“Wake up, Luke,” Michael says.

No response.

“Wake up, Luke,” he repeats, a little louder.

Across the room, a misshapen heap of blankets stirs, then goes still.

Undiscouraged, Michael grabs his pillow and chucks it at his roommate. “It’s almost noon, lazy ass.”

There’s a pause, and then Luke sticks his head out of the cocoon he’s made out of his bedsheets. “I feel like I’m gonna die,” he announces.

“You look like it, too,” Michael says. “Aspirin’s in the bathroom.”

Luke peers at him with hopeful blue eyes. “Bring it to me?”

“No.”

“Please?” Now he’s pouting. _Jesus._

Michael makes a show of grumbling when he stands up to comply, but he returns anyway with the aspirin and a glass of water.

“Thanks, babe,” Luke says smugly as he accepts both.

Michael elects to be a good person and resist the (extremely strong) urge to flip him off; instead, he snatches up his pillow and throws it back onto his own bed with a huff. He thinks that’s a pretty good way of expressing himself.

❖

Luke spends the last week of Christmas break sleeping, eating, and playing (read: losing) against Michael on the Xbox— in that order precisely, before repeating the cycle.

Calum joins them more often than not. Luke fully expects him to bring up Ashton at any given moment, but as the days pass and Calum doesn’t breathe a word of the New Year’s party, it becomes apparent that either Ashton didn’t tell him or that he’s actually chosen _not_ to make Luke’s life a living hell. Either way, Luke’s grateful.

It’s the last Sunday of vacation, and they’re spending it by rotting in Michael and Luke’s dorm— naturally. They put down the game controllers a while ago; all three of them are lying around the room in various states of repose. From his spot on his bunk, Luke’s pulled out his phone. He’s scrolling aimlessly through his Facebook feed when Michael sits up abruptly.

“Did you see?” he says, holding up his own phone like he thinks Luke can see what it says from all the way across the room. “All Time Low just announced a new tour.”

Luke makes a noncommittal noise. “I wish that was me,” he grumbles. “Don’t wanna go back to class tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you start a band, then?” Michael says.

“Maybe I will.”

Michael laughs. “Sure.”

Luke sits up indignantly. “Fuck you,” he says. “I will. And I’ll make myself the lead singer.”

“I’ll be bassist,” Calum offers lazily. He’s back on his phone. “Haven’t played in a while, but. I could.”

“You didn’t bring your bass to America,” Michael reminds him.

“I’ll rent one.”

“Calum gets me,” Luke says. “We’ll be a two-man band. Get famous. Travel the world.”

“Be friends with All Time Low,” Calum adds. Then, “Y’know, when I was younger, I wrote a couple songs. They didn’t turn out too bad.”

“This is stupid,” Michael says. “You guys are stupid. I can’t believe you’re renting a bass.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you’re not part of the band,” Luke tells him.

“I don’t _want_ to be part of the band.”

“Uh huh,” Luke says with a smirk.

“He so does,” Calum says. “Look at him.”

“I don’t,” Michael insists.

Calum nods to himself, like this confirms something. “He does.”

Michael looks betrayed. “Well, you can’t just make plans for world fame when I’m right here and not invite me.”

“Calum invited himself,” Luke points out.

“You would’ve invited me anyway,” Calum says.

“Fine. I invite myself into the band,” Michael says with the air of a martyr. “You happy now?”

And that’s how the band becomes a thing.

❖

In spite of being in a band now, if it can be called that, Luke still has to go to class the next day.

It snowed sometime during the night, so he’s crunching his way through a thin blanket of snow with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets and his mind on his next class when he sees him.

There’s a kid up ahead, sitting in the middle of the courtyard for whatever reason. Not even on a bench or anything, just. Sitting in the middle of the courtyard. In the snow. He has a notebook in his lap and seems to be drawing or writing something in it, and it’s weird because there are literally a million better places he could be doing that.

Luke shoots him a kind of funny look. The kid glances up, apparently sensing this strong source of judgment, and causes Luke to nearly trip over his own feet.

It’s Ashton. And he’s wearing _glasses_.

Luke blames the redness of his face on the winter chill as he hurries past.

❖

They make a Youtube account. Naturally, this brings up the question of what the band should be called.

“Clifford and Co.,” Michael suggests.

“More like Hemmings and Co.,” Luke says. “It was my idea.”

“Actually, it was mine,” Michael says. “Since I’m the one who told you about that tour and all. You wouldn’t even have _had_ the idea if it weren’t for me.”

Luke snorts. That’s the biggest reach he’s ever heard.

“Three Guys,” Calum says. He clarifies, rather unnecessarily, “Because we’re three guys.”

“Isn’t that a burger place?” Michael says.

“Five Guys, not Three Guys,” Luke says. “I like it. Kind of has a nice ring to it.”

Michael looks skeptical. “We’ll get sued. For copyright infringement.”

“Copyright Infringement,” Calum muses. “How’s that for a band name?”

Luke’s kind of horrified. “That’s shit.”

“What about a drummer?” Michael asks abruptly.

“What About a Drummer,” Luke repeats, unimpressed.

Michael rolls his eyes. “It was an actual question, dumbass. We don’t have a drummer.”

And, well. That’s kind of a big problem.

❖

Less than a week passes before the solution arrives. It’s Sunday night and they’re crowded around the television like some sort of secret video game-worshipping cult.

“Did you know Ashton drums?” Calum says in the middle of an intense round of Mario Kart.  

It’s an offhanded comment, but the mention of Ashton’s name makes Luke’s fingers slip on the controls. Princess Peach hurtles off the racetrack.

“He just mentioned it in passing,” Calum continues, oblivious. “I forgot to mention it, but. It was the day I rented my bass. I was playing it and he walked in and he was like, ‘oh, I didn’t realize you played the bass’ and I was like, ‘yeah, I left mine at home so I haven’t played in a while,’ and he said that was pretty cool and that he had to leave his drums at home, too. Since he couldn’t really bring a drumset onto the plane.”

“We should ask him to join the band,” Michael says, and just like that, Luke’s worst fears come to life. He can’t face Ashton again.

“Are you— are you sure he’s any good, though?” he says.

Calum shrugs. “Dunno. But it can’t hurt to hear him play. I hear there’s a drumset in the music room.”

“There is,” Michael says. Bowser crosses the finish line in first place, and he sits back in satisfaction. “And no one uses the music room outside of class, so it’s perfect for practice.”

“What if he doesn’t want to join?”

“Who wouldn’t want to be in our band?” Michael says.

“You, last week,” Luke reminds him. “But I guess you secretly wanted to join all along.”

Michael scowls.

Luigi comes in third and Calum puts his controller down. “I’ll ask him about it when I get back to our dorm tonight,” he says.

Luke can’t really protest any more without seeming suspicious, so he drops the matter and focuses on getting Peach through the finish line.

Michael shakes his head. “Eighth place? Disgraceful.”

“Fuck off,” Luke says.

It’s Ashton’s fault, anyhow.

❖

The first full band practice is awkward, to say the least.

They’re standing in the music room. Luke had come with Michael, and Calum had showed up with Ashton in tow a few minutes later. Now they’re having a kind of face-off, or so Luke assumes; he’s trying not to avoid looking at their band’s latest addition for too long lest his giant fucking crush can become even more fucking obvious.

Calum, to his credit, tries to introduce them. “Uh, Ashton, this is Michael and Luke,” he says. He points at both of them in turn, but it’s half-hearted and his hand just ends up flopping towards them in a gesture that might look like pointing if Luke squints and tilts his head. From a distance. “Michael, Luke, this is Ashton. Uh. Obviously.”

Ashton doesn’t break it to him that he already knows Luke, just nods and smiles pleasantly. Says, “Nice to meet you.”

Then they get down to business.

Except, none of them really have any idea what they’re doing. It’s not an audition or anything, but it’ll be awkward as hell if Ashton turns out to be shit. Luke loiters to the left of and somewhat behind Michael as Calum asks Ashton to “play something, I guess”, and.

It turns out that Ashton’s really fucking good at drumming. Which is great, it truly is, but it sucks for Luke because Michael and Calum are exchanging approving glances while Luke contemplates his imminent doom. At this rate, it looks like he’s going to be seeing Ashton a lot more now, and he’s going to have to address the New Year’s party if he ever wants to get over it. But that’s easier said than done.

“That was fucking awesome,” Michael declares the instant Ashton finishes.

“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means you’re in, bro,” Calum says, moving around the drums to clap him on the back. “We have a drummer. All we need now is a name.”

❖

It comes out of nowhere, but they decide to call themselves 5 Seconds of Summer.

(“Why not 4 Seconds of Summer? There are four of us,” Calum points out.

“What’s with you and your obsession with the number of people in our band?” Michael says.)

❖

Things get better after that, kind of.

They practice songs, record them, post them to Youtube. They’ve only got a couple thousand subscribers, but that’s all right; they’ve gained quickly, and even if the whole band thing doesn’t work out, they’ve formed an unbreakable friendship, all four of them, for which Luke couldn’t be more grateful.

He still treads carefully around Ashton. They’re close now, closer than he’d have expected them to become. The other boy acts like he doesn’t remember the night of the party at all and it’s probably for Luke’s benefit, but it’s frustrating all the same; if he would just confront Luke about it, go _hey man, I remember you from that frat party, sorry I bailed on you but I’m not interested and I’m telling you this so you can stop thinking I’m giving you mixed signals,_ that would be nice.

But he doesn’t, and Luke’s pretty sure he’s getting mixed signals.

It’s in the way he’ll tell jokes for the sole purpose of watching Luke struggle not to choke on his own laughter, in the way Luke happens to glance up and find Ashton quickly avert his gaze, in the way he can feel Ashton’s eyes on him when he thinks Luke’s not looking.

It’s in the memory of Ashton very deliberately staring at his lips that night and saying _there are exceptions_.

❖

Luke doesn’t do anything about it until February, and even then, it’s not out of his own free will.

He’s taken to joining Ashton as he sketches in the courtyard. They share a bench for the most part, but sometimes Ashton insists on sitting on the ground. _It makes me feel closer to the Earth,_ he’d proclaimed when Luke had asked him about it, which is about the most hippie thing Luke’s ever heard, and he’s almost certain that Ashton wasn’t being serious, but there’s no telling.

Today is a bench day; Ashton’s on one end and Luke’s on the other, Ashton sitting with his back to the armrest and his feet on the bench, Luke like a normal person.

“How’s this?” Ashton says, holding up his sketchbook for Luke to see.

The drawing is of one of the trees next to Luke, branches bony and bare from the long winter. It’s depicted in shadows and light, the outline of the tree barely visible.

“It’s not too bad,” Luke says nonchalantly.

The pride on Ashton’s face fades a little, and Luke bites his lip for all of a second before he cracks.

“’m _kidding_ ,” he says. “It’s amazing, Ash. _You’re_ amazing.”

Ashton breaks out into a grin and Luke grins back, but then Ashton ducks his head and says, “Stop.”

Which is, like, not what Luke was expecting to hear. “Stop what?”

“Stop…” Ashton waves his free arm in a wild gesture. “Stop _doing_ this. This— this flirting.”

Flash back to December 31st. Luke’s smile drops. “I didn’t mean to,” he says. “It’s not something I can— I can’t _control_ it. Around you, I mean.”

“You’re doing it again,” Ashton mumbles, pulling his coat tighter around himself.

Luke’s at a loss for words. “I’m sorry? I know you’re not interested, I just. Say things. Without thinking about it, I guess.”

Ashton doesn’t reply immediately, so Luke takes a deep breath, figures now is as good a time as any, gathers all of his courage before he can lose it, and continues, “I’m also sorry about that, uh. That night. I came on too strong, but I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I’ve been kind of too embarrassed to tell you, but. There it is. Just wanted you to know.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ashton says. “I shouldn’t have run away like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just. Out of my element. Calum kind of guilt-tripped me into going because I’d always turned down his other invitations. And I’m not, like, y’know. I’ve never been into guys before.”

Luke doesn’t dare ask if the _before_ means _before Luke_ or if it just means Ashton’s shutting him down again in the nicest way possible.  

He swallows. Says, “That’s fine. I understand.”

He doesn’t, not really, but Ashton nods like that’s all he needed to hear.

❖

Winter ends.

The band hits 5,000 subscribers on Youtube at the end of March, which is pretty crazy considering it’s only been a few months since they even made the account, but it’s nice, too; it gives them hope that they really might have a shot at the music scene.

Spring break comes and passes; like he did for Christmas break, Luke stays on campus. Round trip ticket to Australia aren’t cheap, and he’ll be flying home for the summer anyhow.

Luke and Ashton both conveniently forget that the conversation in the courtyard ever happened. Sort of. Luke still joins Ashton while he sketches, but there’s a new tension in their interactions; Luke thinks everything he says three times over before he actually says it and Ashton seems perpetually on edge, like he’s afraid Luke will try to, like, kiss him out of the blue.

Other than that, though, life goes on. Being an art major, Ashton has a final project rather than a final exam, which he gets assigned a month before finals week.

“I have to paint ‘my concept of beauty’,” he tells Luke in disgust. “Like, what the fuck? What does that even mean?”

“Maybe it’s supposed to be abstract,” Luke says. “Like. Triangles and circles and shit.”

“Thanks,” Ashton deadpans. “Maybe I’ll be the next Picasso.”

❖

“I think I have an idea,” Ashton says two days later. “For the final project, I mean.”

It’s raining, so they’ve relocated to the gazebo in favor of the usual bench. There aren’t any chairs or anything, so they’re sitting on the ground, facing opposite to one another.

“Really? What is it?” Luke asks.

“A secret,” Ashton says. “’m not telling you.”

“Why’d you say it in the first place, then, if you didn’t want me to ask?” Luke says, slightly miffed, but Ashton absorbs himself in his sketchbook and doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t say anything at all, as a matter of fact, until about ten minutes in, when he mentions as an afterthought, “This’ll probably be the last time I’ll sketch outside. I’m gonna start the painting after I finish planning it out, so.”

(“The dorm stinks of paint and I slipped on a paintbrush,” Calum says the next day at band practice. _“Again.”_

Luke glances to Ashton to make sure he’s too busy talking to Michael to hear, then lowers his voice and asks, “Have you seen what he’s making?”

Calum hesitates just long enough for Luke to gather that _yes, yes he has_ , then says, “No.”

He’s a shit liar, but Luke doesn’t press it.)

❖

Ashton invests himself wholeheartedly in the project, or so Luke presumes from the way he withdraws from all social interaction. They only see each other on Sundays now, which is when the four of them get together to practice songs, so there’s little opportunity for to have a conversation without Michael or Calum interfering.

It’s frustrating, though, because Luke tries to be subtle, asks Ashton how the painting’s going while the others are distracted, and before Ashton can reply or find a way to avoid the question, Calum will butt in and announce that he found a tube of paint on bathroom sink that morning and almost used it as toothpaste— cue Michael to jump in with how he replaced his mom’s shampoo with regular hand soap when he was a kid and got grounded for a month.

And the conversation will spiral down an increasingly tangential path until Luke decides that he hates them all. Or rather, he hates Calum and Michael; Ashton’s just an enigma.

❖

They don’t get a moment alone until the Sunday before finals week starts. Luke received a text from Ashton asking if he can come over about an hour before they’re supposed to meet up in the music room, which is an odd request, but it’s been a while since it was just the two of them, so. It’s not a bad thing.

Ashton looks almost anxious when he answers the door. “Hey,” he says, stepping aside so Luke can get in.

“Hi,” he replies absentmindedly, looking around the room like he’s never been in it before. He has, of course, and all the dorms have a similar layout, but whatisn’t familiar is the messiness of the whole place. Ashton’s a neat freak except for when it comes to art, apparently, because the usual tidiness of his side of the room has given way to an explosion of paints, brushes, and the giant canvas on his bed. It’s lying face-up and he can make out a splash of color, but he’s too far away to see what it actually is.

“It looks like a hurricane passed through,” he comments, turning to Ashton.

“Very funny,” Ashton says. His tone is sarcastic, but he doesn’t quite meet Luke’s eyes. “Do you want to see the project or no?”

Luke’s heart leaps in curiosity. So that’s what he’s here for. “I do,” he says.

Ashton nods brusquely, crosses over to his bed, and picks the canvas up slowly. It’s big, twice as wide as him and more than half as high.

“I’m handing it in tomorrow. I always planned on showing it to you, I just didn’t want you to see it until it was done,” he says, putting it onto the floor so it’s propped against his mattress frame and moving to the side so he isn’t blocking it anymore.

Luke can kind of guess why Ashton would want that. He’s bewildered, though, because—

“Is that me?”

“No, it’s Calum,” Ashton says. “ _Yes_ , it’s you.”

It’s a three-quarter view of a boy sitting on a bench with feathery blond hair sticking out of a beanie and snowflakes in his eyelashes. There’s a tree in the foreground that Luke recognizes as the same one Ashton sketched months ago, and its branches arch over his head to frame him.

He swallows, hard. “I thought you were supposed to paint your ‘concept of beauty’,” he says.

Ashton’s chewing on his lip. “I did.”

“Oh.” It’s, like, the most anticlimactic way possible to react to this — whatever this is — but Luke is at a loss for what to say. Is the painting a confession, or is Ashton just screwing with his mind again?

“Do you… like it?”

Luke nods mutely.

“I think,” Ashton says, and his cheeks are flushed even more than Luke’s, “that this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”

And that answers Luke’s question pretty well, so he crosses the room in two long strides, tilts Ashton’s chin up, and fits their mouths together.

Ashton responds immediately, hands settling on Luke’s hips and tugging him forward to deepen the kiss, but Luke pulls away before it gets heated, eliciting a noise of protest from Ashton. “I thought you didn’t like me,” he murmurs.

“I never said that.”

“You told me to stop flirting with you.”

Ashton sighs. Luke can feel his breath. “I think— I think I liked you too much.”

“So you acted like you weren’t interested,” Luke says, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Naturally.”

“I was confused,” Ashton mumbles. “But I always thought— I always thought you were attractive. At that party? I figured it was all physical, and I didn’t want to get involved with a frat boy. Then later, when we became friends and I started liking you for— for being _you_ , I got scared. I’ve never had feelings for another guy.”

Luke can’t stop himself from leaning in to steal another kiss. “What’s wrong with frat boys?”

Ashton shrugs, a little helplessly. “’ve seen too many movies, probably. Thought they were all spoiled rich kids, and I guess I kind of resented that? Since I came here on a scholarship. But I’m glad I was wrong.”

Luke opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t have to speak because Ashton’s lips are on his again and it’s more than everything he could have said.

❖

They end up being late to practice.

Michael’s gaze flickers between the two of them, taking in tousled hair and swollen lips, before he smirks suggestively.

Calum says, “Please tell me you didn’t use my bed.”

Luke splutters. “We didn’t— we didn’t have—”

“We didn’t use your bed,” Ashton says. “You already fucked Michael on it, so.”

Calum chokes. “Did _not_.”

Michael nods. “It was actually the other way around,” he says, and Calum’s jaw drops.

“What the fuck? That’s a lie,” he says. “We take turns.”

Luke, somehow, isn’t surprised. “You guys are disgusting,” he says, but he’s smiling.

Finals start tomorrow and they’re all growing up too quickly and he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with his future or if the band will even last six more months, but right now, this — just being surrounded by his best friends — is more than he could ever ask for.

It’s going to be a good four years.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS iS CHEESY AS HELL AND IDK HOW TO END FICS WHOOPS


End file.
